


Forever Is Just Another Journey

by Anniecat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bavva, Bespin, But at what cost?, Canon-Typical Violence, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Din Gets a New Ship, Gen, Mentioned Grogu | Baby Yoda, Mentioned Luke Skywalker, Nevarro, Post-Season/Series 02, Sad Din Djarin, discussions of the Force, imperial ass kicking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28640112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anniecat/pseuds/Anniecat
Summary: Din's mission is finished, so now he can go back to his normal life.He wishes he wanted that.Post Season 2.(tags will update)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. The Ship

The Mandalorian let his heels scuff against the cool steel of the catwalk, the rest of the passengers on the Bespin transport exiting at the earlier stop for easy access to gambling and business deals. The captain of the transport graciously allowed the Mandalorian to stay onboard until he got to the refueling port, away from the bustling city center. 

From the other side of the catwalk, a dark skinned man wearing a cream colored cape stepped forward. His hair was a silky black, the cut not much longer than Din’s own coarse curls. 

“You look a little lost,” The man said. “There’s nothing in this section but refueling ports and administrative offices.” Din stopped in his tracks, leaving about a meter and a half between them, hoping to maintain a little bit of mystique.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” Din replied. “I’m looking for Lando Calrissian.” 

“Well, you found him,” the man laughed, opening up his arms in a showboaty manner. “Though, there’s no bounty on my head that I’m aware of, so I can’t imagine why you would have any business with me.” 

“What makes you think I’m a bounty hunter?” Din asked.

“Oh, you all have that look about you.” 

The two stood in uncomfortable silence. Calrissian tilted his chin slightly to the side, in a quizzical manner. 

“What business do you have with me, Bounty Hunter?” He finally asked. Din shifted on his feet.

“I’m in the market for a new ship. Pre-Empire. I’ve heard you can get me one.” Calrissian smiled, coy, and rolled his shoulders.

“Maybe. But I don’t do business on the landing, you’ll have to indulge me and take this… elsewhere,” Calrissian said, and if Din had any sort of instinct for that sort of thing, it might even have been flirtatious. “Is that alright?” 

Din nodded curtly, and Calrissian spun back around on the heel of his black boots, the rippling cape adding an extra bit of flourish. Din trailed him, maintaining the separation between them as to not look like a dog following its master. Calrissian led him through a series of clean, white hallways, which were so unlike the majority of planets Din had visited on the Outer Rim. At one point, Din even looked behind him to make sure he wasn’t tracking anything onto the pristine floor. They finally reached a small craft, which Calrissian gestured for Din to board. 

Calrissian’s apartment was a little further into the city than Din expected. He assumed that someone who did shady deals would be less conspicuous, but Calrissian’s ostentatious style obviously superseded keeping himself hidden. Or, he was just that brazen.

Calrissian keyed in a code to a door, which slid open swiftly. Inside, a holoprojector powered up automatically, a young woman in white speaking forcefully.

“Lando, it’s important-” She said, before Calrissian shut it off. He led Din into his living room, the same stark white as the rest of Cloud City. The arrangement of cubical seating implied the room entertained often, but the sparse decoration was off-putting. 

Calrissian seated himself near the gash of a window. Din wasn’t entirely sure where to sit, feeling any choice would be awkward. He chose the chair next to the right wall, leaving 3 spaces between the two of them. 

“So you’re in the market for something Pre-Empire. May I ask why?” Calrissian asked, leaning back. Din remained at the edge of his seat, his forearms rested on his tassets. 

“No.”

“Well, I can’t help you then. I don’t have anything Pre-Empire,” Calrissian said, and Din tried not to let his shoulders fall in defeat. Instead, he stood up.

“I’m sorry to have wasted your time, then,” Din muttered. However, Calrissian didn’t look plussed at all.

“Of course, if you needed something that didn’t have a beacon, well, I could help you there,” Calrissian offered, glancing up at Din. Din deflated and crumpled back into his seat. Calrissian smiled.

“You have a name, Bounty Hunter?” 

“Yes.” 

“Care to tell me? You know mine, it’s only fair.” Under his helmet, Din rolled his eyes.

“Lots of people know  _ your _ name,” he responded, not intending to stress the words as much as he did. Calrissian looked taken aback for a fraction of a second, then regained his smarmy composure. 

“Why, are you accusing me of being loose with my name?” Din’s cheeks flared with heat, and he thanked the stars for the cool beskar cooling them down.

“Some people can afford to. Some people can’t,” Din stated, hoping that would constitute an apology.

“I guess that’s true. But, if I outfit you with a shadow beacon, I’ll need to know it,” Calrissian divulged.

“Shadow beacon?”

“It’s a false beacon that fools New Republic sensors into thinking you have one, but they have a heavily encrypted codec. Unless you’re a public enemy, you’ll fly beside their notice.”

“Is it illegal?”

“It is legal. Technically. It’s still a usable transponder, it’s just a little more private.”

“Fine. How much?” Din relented. 

“200,000 credits.” Din frowned, and crossed his arms. The bounty on Gideon’s head was high, but not that high. 

“I don’t, uh, have that much,” Din sputtered. Calrissian’s eyebrows knitted slightly, and his jaw tensed. 

“My price is non-negotiable,” he affirmed, a new coldness introduced into his tone. 

“I have 100,000,” Din negotiated, but he knew that it wouldn’t help. 

“I can’t go lower than 200,000,” Calrissian maintained, and Din began to itch. This had been his only lead on a ship since they took the light-cruiser.

“What if I- what if you let me pay it off?” Din said, allowing desperation to strain his syllables. Calrissian raised an eyebrow, but his jaw remained steely.

“I don’t do loans.”

“What if I gave you collateral?” Din implored. “Do you know how much a beskar helmet is worth?”

“Not half of a shadow beacon.”

“To a Mandalorian, they are priceless.”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“But I am. Isn’t the point of collateral to make sure I come back? I’ll pay 150 within a year.” It was a risky bet, but Din was sure he could get enough bounties to cut it. The taking of the light cruiser shook quite a few Imps loose, and the New Republic would pay handsomely for each one. Din wasn’t excited about being the New Republic’s personal hunter, but their coffers were full. Calrissian considered this, then nodded his head. 

Din slowly pulled out several ingots, which he kept in the satchel that once was Grogu’s carrier. He set them on the glass table in front of them. With each ingot placed, Calrissian’s head nodded, as if he was using his chin to tally.

“The helmet?” Calrissian asked, after Din emptied his bag.

“I’d like to see the ship first.”

Calrissian brought Din to the western shipdock, and presented him with a _Poladus-464_. 

“A freighter? You’re joking,” Din scoffed, looking the bronze starship up and down. The thing was bulky and almost U shaped, the cockpit housed in the left point, and a single cannon on the right. 

“I’m a droid manufacturer. We don’t tend to need  _ gunships _ ,” said Calrissian icily, as he led Din up the ramp into the cargo bay. “She’s fast and maneuverable. I’m sure you’ll find her acceptable.”

_ At least I could install the carbon freezer here,  _ Din thought, looking around at the cargo bay.  _ It might even be a tad more spacious than the _ Crest _ ’s. _

Calrissian took him up a ladder and through a tunnel into the cockpit. It only had one chair, and for a second, Din worried about where Grogu would sit. 

Calrissian sat down at the controls. “I need your name now,” he requested. If he could have, Din would have shoved his own fingers at the keys and inputted it himself, but the console was far too cramped for that.

“Din Djarin,” he provided, slowly. Calrissian typed it in, missing a few letters, which Din corrected. When he swivelled back around, Calrissian stood up and offered Din the seat.

Din looked at the cockpit. They were largely the same as the  _ Razor Crest _ ’s, only there wasn’t anything to control the cannon. That was worrying. The docking mechanisms were different too; they required a key turn and a pedal, rather than a lever. All in all, the cockpit was much more compact, almost like an X-Wing with leg room. It would be difficult to sleep in this seat, which he was fond of doing during long hyperspace journeys where he needed to be close to the trigger in case trouble found him. 

“It’ll do,” Din concluded, turning back around and standing. The two exited the claustrophobic cockpit and into the main hold. He could install some extra cannons there.

“The helmet?” Calrissian demanded, hand out. Din took a deep breath, and lifted the helmet off of his head. He swallowed, holding the helmet in his hands and looking down at the only face that most people knew him by. He handed it over to Calrissian, who accepted it gingerly. “150,000 credits,” Calrissian confirmed, the previous congeniality absent from his voice.

“150,000 credits,” Din agreed. 


	2. The Favor

Din’s first stop was Nevarro. The handling on the  _ Poladus _ was sharper than the  _ Razor Crest _ , and he had trouble accounting for that. He was lucky that fuel was cheap on Bespin, because he overshot the sector by about three and a half parsecs. 

The control tower on Nevarro City accepted his transponder without a hitch. A wave of relief overcame him. Of the New Republic controlled planets, Nevarro had to be the most lax; if the shadow beacon couldn’t fool them, then it was useless, and he was pretty sure Lando Calrissian didn’t have a return policy.

He landed the  _ Poladus _ a little further out from town. As he stepped off the loading ramp, the voggy atmosphere stung his eyes. Warm wind blew against his face, and he struggled to breathe in. Din slowly began to trudge forward, suddenly regretting his decision to land so far away. 

Despite being helmetless, Din remained shelled up in the remaining armor, despite knowing there was very little danger that would require it. People who recognized his armor would know it was him; people who didn’t would assume he killed a Mandalorian. Either way, it sent a message. 

His first instinct was to check the cantina, where Greef Karga usually haunted before the battle. Then, he remembered that was repurposed into the school, and he would probably be at the east side of town, in the magistrate’s offices. As he passed through the alleyways, Din truly realized how much of the town had changed since he lived there. There were always children in Nevarro City, since scummy types had a knack for having children, but not all of them were able to dump them on others. Bad parents would drag the children to their backroom deals, left in corners and booths with little to no supervision. But now, they seemed to be everywhere, playing small games with balls between them, or climbing up around awnings and crates. The smell was different too; he wasn't sure if it was just the lack of helmet, but it seemed to have a spicier, richer smell, produced by more vendors frying up street food in large woks. For a moment, he wondered if his covert would have been able to live above ground in a city like this, then he immediately quashed the thought. 

Din considered whether or not he should just walk into the magistrate’s office. Just walking in felt rude and invasive, but he didn’t know what exactly to do instead. Knock?

Before he could make a decision, the Mythrol approached from the left side, wary. Din swivelled his head to the side.

“Karga. Is he in?” Din asked gruffly, the vog coating his throat uncomfortably. The Mythrol nodded and ushered Din in hesitantly. 

Karga sat with his feet kicked up on the desk, with a titian drink in his right hand, and a comms tablet in his left hand. He only glanced up at Din for a second before registering that the man in beskar was not wearing a helmet. Based on his reaction, pulling his feet down and reaching for his blaster, he likely concluded someone had killed the Mandalorian and stripped him. 

“You can stand down, Karga. It’s me,” Din reassured, before sitting down himself. Karga dropped the hand on his blaster, but remained tense.

“Mando,” Karga began, the typical bravado afforded to the nickname absent. “You’re looking… well, bare. What happened to the, uh?” He gestured around his head.

“I had to put it up as collateral for a new ship,” Din explained simply. 

“I find that hard to believe. It wasn’t so long ago that you would have rather died than let a _ droid  _ take off your hemet,” Karga scoffed. Din frowned.

“Things have changed.”

“Fatherhood will do that to you,” Karga mused, and Din suddenly felt a twist of anger and sadness in his belly. 

“You said that you could pull strings to get me back in the Guild. That still on the table?” Din asked. To his dismay, Karga frowned.

“Not so easy anymore. The Guild isn’t getting so much work these days, not sure current members would be too happy about another hunter to share pucks with,” Karga admitted. Din’s cheeks hollowed.

“What about the New Republic? The Imps they want?”

“New Republic isn’t so  _ fond _ of bounty hunters, you know that. They haven’t put any bounties out yet, trying to see what their people can do without our, uh,  _ assistance _ .”

“Cheap bastards,” Din huffed, and dropped his chin. 

“Try Cara,” said Karga, with a twinge of shame. “She might be able to contract your services for the New Republic directly.”

“Work for the  _ New Republic _ ?” Din’s distaste for the governing body was typically mild; their policies rarely affected him directly, and only on specific occasions of their interference did he take issue with them. However, working directly for the New Republic was a little too involved than he wanted to be.

“Listen, Mando, I’m guessing that helmet was leveraged for a pretty peggat. If you want to get it back, Cara’s your best option.” Karga was right, but Din still scowled. He stood up and thanked Karga, and passed the Mythrol on his way out.

“Mando?” Karga asked before Din crossed the threshold. Din turned his head back. “What kind of ship did you buy?”

“A  _ Poladus-464 _ ,” Din answered, eliciting a hearty laugh from Karga.

“A freighter? If a New Republic contract doesn’t work out, maybe you can smuggle!” Karga teased. The corners of Din’s lips turned up as Din left the office.

The marshal’s office wasn’t far away from the magistrate’s, but Din was sure that it was vacant. Cara had never been the sedentary type, and even with her fancy New Republic position, he doubted that would be enough to keep her behind a desk all day. While the city’s conditions  _ had  _ improved, there were still seedy joints that required her attention. Din headed to one of those, at the north side of town. 

When she saw him, Cara raised her eyebrows. “Hey, good to, uh,  _ see  _ you,” she greeted. 

“I’m looking for work rounding up Imps. Karga told me you might be able to help me.” Din cut to the chase, choosing to not elaborate on his missing helmet until she brought it up.

“You want to become a Ranger?” Cara smirked. Din grimaced in return.

“He said you might be able to contract my services. As a bounty hunter, not a ranger,” he stressed. She shrugged.

“I don’t know if we’re at that point yet. Rangers have picked up quite a few, all on their own,” Cara told him wryly. 

“Cara,” he pleaded, knowing his face was showing his desperation. Facial expressions were instinctual, but he never had practice hiding them.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Cara relented. In return, Din gave her a crooked smile.

-

When they took the light-cruiser, Cara and some New Republic brass had spent nearly three hours offloading data. Positional data was useless: once news of Moff Gideon’s defeat spread, Empire ships dispersed across the galaxy, and bases were evacuated. As was much of the tactical data, which showed countless planned attacks that never came to be. However, the personnel data was solid gold. Chain codes, biometrics, and profiles on every person who had ever accessed an Imperial terminal.

When Cara showed him the database, Din shifted in his boots.

“Relax, your chain code won’t come up,” Cara assured him, sensing his fear. She pulled up a face on her terminal. “This is Nifej Burke. She’s a commander, in charge of TIE pilots. We think she’s escaped to Bavva.” The woman had straight white hair, and pale skin. Her taupe lips were pulled into a straight line, and her small nose was slightly flared. 

“I’ll take it. Thank you,” Din said, taking the data stick from the port.

“Wait a second, nerfherder. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Cara warned.

“I know she’s an Imp. I know she’s on Bavva.” Din turned to leave.

“Burke is decorated. She’s a sharp shot, and a sharper pilot. And we  _ think _ she’s on Bavva.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can take her down. I appreciate your help.”

“Din, you’re vulnerable,” she said, like a punch to the gut. “Without your helmet-”

“Plenty of Mandalorians fight without their helmets,” Din alluded to Bo-Katan and Koska, and their male friend he assumed they later ate.

“But do you?”

Din swallowed.

“I’ll have to.”


	3. The Stranger

“ _ Poladus _ , come in,” the control tower on Bavva transmitted. For a second, Din forgot that was him.

“This is  _ Poladus _ ,” he confirmed.

“Are you in need of refueling or repairs?”

“No, I just need somewhere to land.”

“Proceed to hangar 9, docking bay 4.”

“Affirmative,” Din said, and locked onto the bay. 

Din lowered the loading ramp and stepped off the ship. He could see that the planet was incredibly green as he was approaching, but even the walls of the docking bay were covered in moss. When Din stepped through the archway to the street access, he was surprised that his boots didn’t seem to back clicking as loud as they typically did. Din looked down and realized that the street was not paved with stone or metal, but was overgrown with moss as well, bluer than the growth on the walls. 

Din made his way through the streets, hoping for a bar or pub of some sort. At the end of an alleyway, there seemed to be music coming from one of the fronts.  _ That’ll do _ , Din thought, as he proceeded into the alleyway. 

The sign on the door roughly translated to club, but as soon as he entered, it was clear that they obviously meant disco. The jaunty music assaulted his naked ears, and he was pushed to the edges of the room by energetic dancers half his age. When he finally made his way to the bar counter, the tender was less than happy to see him.

“Take your trouble elsewhere, Mando. I don’t want to clean blood off the dancefloor tonight,” she spat. 

“I’m not looking for trouble,” Din told her carefully, placing his hands on the counter.

“Your attire says otherwise,” she said reproachfully, looking his beskar shell up and down. 

“I’m looking for information.” The tender raised an eyebrow.

“Then go to the archives. I’m not sure a dance club has the information you seek, unless you want to know how to do the Anoat tango,” she scoffed.

“I’m looking for a woman on the run. Where might I find someone who knows something?” Din asked, trying to maintain his cool composure. The heat generated by the dancers made it near impossible, and judging but the mirrored shelf behind the tender, his face had taken on a sweaty, ruddy complexion lacking any intimidation.

“I don’t know, 500 clicks east?” She suggested, annoyed. “Kaniti is the criminal hotspot.” Din cursed himself. He landed in a peaceful village.

“Thank you,” he relented, and pulled away from the bar. The tender continued to watch him with a careful eye until he had passed out the double doors.

\- 

Much to his dismay, no one would rent him a speeder to go to Kaniti. Apparently they too often came back in pieces, or not at all. 

That was only slightly worrying.

Begrudgingly, Din headed back to the _Poladus_. A mechanic at the hangar was kind enough to advise Din not to land just anywhere. The marshes looked identical to solid ground, and if he wasn’t careful, he might sink his brand new ship into the peat. 

The hop to the Kaniti province was short, but Din was still careful to land a click away. He wanted to make sure he had a ship to come back to. 

On his march into town, Din’s boots seemed to sink into the marsh. 

“Kriff,” he cursed bitterly, despite stepping in much worse over the years. The muck of this province was far worse than the previous settlement.  _ Fitting _ , he thought, as he began to come into view of the inhabitants. Not a single one was without a blaster, and all of them seemed to eye his armor like a starving man seeing bread. 

He hears a Bith mutter in Huttese, “Why don’t we crack that bug open?”

His friend muttered back, “Not worth the trouble.”

Din was glad to hear that. 

Where the previous settlement was lacking in joints, this one seemed to be teeming with them. Cantinas were backed up against bars, drunken brawlers pushing their way to the next after being thrown out by the bouncers. 

Before entering a gambling hut, Din’s elbow was gripped. He turned around to a gold skinned Mirialan with black diamond x’s on his forehead and chin. The Mirialan was short, probably only five and a half feet tall, in heeled black boots. A dark green cloak made of thick wool clasped below his chin, and fell about three inches below the knee.

“You seek the commander, Mandalorian?” The Mirialan rasped, less of a question than a statement. Din nodded. 

“Come with me, then.”

-

The Mirialan led Din to his apartment, which was above a butcher shop. The stench of rancid meat permeated into the single room, and Din tried his best not to twist his nose. The Mirialan discarded his cloak, revealing a shimmering green wrap top that left his shoulders bare.  _ That’s a bit inappropriate for the weather, _ Din thought, until he remembered that Mirial was a cold planet, much more frigid than Bavva.

On one of the walls, a small statue of a deity stood atop a repurposed crate. The same diamonds that formed the x’s on the Mirialan’s face were etched onto the wall, in a strange, sweet sort of shrine. The rest of the room didn’t have the same amount of care put into it, a small gray pouf, a short table, and a beat up chaise with a blanket that Din guessed the Mirialan used as a bed.

“Sit,” the Mirialan said. “I will prepare tea.” He proceeded to the section of the room that constituted a kitchen, and filled a kettle with water and tea leaves. The Mirialan remained by the stove, placing small cakes onto a plate, and retrieving stone mugs from his shelf. 

When the kettle began to whistle, the Mirialan removed it from the burner and brought it and the tray to the squat table. “Y’ai,” he told Din.  _ Eat _ , Din’s brain translated, despite never hearing a word of Mirialan before. Din took a small cake and placed it on his tongue. It was nutty and spicy, reminding him of Uj cake that was given to him as a foundling in sparing bits. The Mirialan sipped out of his stone mug.

“You are searching for Nifej Burke,” the Mirialan stated gently. 

“How did you know?” Din tipped his chin up, eying the mysterious stranger.

“I could feel it the second you stepped into town,” the Mirialan said, in his throaty timbre. “I am Akline Remura. I hunt Nifej as well.” The word “feel” pricked Din’s ears.

“Are you Jedi?” he asked. Akline’s eyebrows drew close, and he frowned.

“No. Why would you think that?” 

“You said you felt me walk into town-”

“One does not need to be a Jedi to connect, to reach out with the Force. Though many Mirialan were Jedi,” Akline mused, sagely. “I digress. We must work together to defeat Nifej.” Din gulped at his own tea, which was slick and sweet. 

“I work alone,” Din told Akline, although that recently wasn’t so true. Akline crinkled his eyes sheepishly, like the sentiment was amusing to him. 

“Maybe typically, but not now. Your head is not well,” Akline declared, reaching out with his gold fingertips, and softly ghosting around Din’s forehead and temple. Din inhaled sharply at the suddenly invasive gesture, and pulled away slightly. “Your recent traumas will hinder you in battle. We should do it together.” Akline retracted his hand, away from Din’s face. 

“Do you  _ fight _ ?” Din inquired lamely. Akline shrugged and nodded. “Then why haven’t you gone after her yourself?”

“I am not skilled enough to take her myself. With our combined talents, we will be able to,” Akline assured Din. 

“Tell me what you know. Then I’ll decide.” Akline cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes perceptively. 

“Very well, Mandalorian,” he sighed. Akline stood up and retrieved something from a chest sitting in the corner. A hologram, Din realized, as Akline placed it on the table next to the cake tray and powered it up. “She has overtaken a small garrison a few clicks into the Kobray Fenlands.”

“An Imperial garrison?” Din interrupted. Akline kneeled next to Din.

“No, an old Corellian spice cartel’s. She has a guard of about 30 Nothoiin, and an advanced TIE. Reinforced titanium entry points, and a cannon at each corner. 12 total,” Akline described, poking at the holo. It wasn’t a recording, Din realized. It was hand drawn, the lines more akin to a blueprint schematic. He wondered if Akline drew it himself. 

“How do you know all this?” Din questioned, suddenly suspicious. 

“Mandalorian, I’ve been hunting her,” remarked Akline patronizingly slow, as if he were speaking to a young child. “I have no reason to betray you.” For some reason, Din knew that Akline was telling him the truth. He swallowed thickly.

“Alright, together then,” Din relented. He looked outside, at the setting sun. “Let’s leave now, overtake them at nightfall.” Akline laughed, though it sounded more like croaking in his rough voice. 

“The Nothoiin see in the dark, and regardless, you are in no condition to fight, not yet.” Akline stood up and cradled Din’s head in his hands, seemingly sucking the consciousness out of Din as his body went limp. “Spiamoe kēia.” 

_ Sleep now. _

“Spiamoe, Din Djarin.”


	4. The Plan

In his dream, he was back on the  _ Razor Crest _ . He held Grogu on his lap, enveloping Grogu’s tiny hand with his beefy one. The ship was stalled; on purpose or by accident he didn’t know, but he seemed to know where he was. 

With his free hand, Din pointed to the stars around them. “See there? That's Purlis, the brightest star in the Oktos sector. And there’s Alassa Major, it’s a green star, just like you.” Din poked Grogu’s little nose with his pointer finger. Grogu giggled, then batted away Din’s finger. The baby snuggled in closer to Din’s belly. Din wrestled his cape around them, trying not to disturb Grogu, until he had tangled the two of them in it, like a makeshift blanket. Neither of them were asleep, but they were in a peaceful trance, unmoving. Din inhaled, then realized that he wasn’t wearing his helmet. 

When he woke, his chest felt so caved in that he checked to make sure his cuirass was still in place.

Din realized that he was propped up on the chaise, with the dingy blanket covering him. How the tiny Mirialan had hoisted Din’s unconscious body onto the chaise he wasn’t sure, but his ankles still hung off the edge of it. As he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, he noticed Akline sitting cross legged in front of the shrine. He had changed his clothes, thicker pants and a long sleeve shirt. His eyelids were closed, but his eyes still seemed to dart around. Din wasn’t sure if Akline was sleeping or meditating.

Soon enough, Akline stirred, and began to prepare supplies, wordlessly. From the chest, he selected several tube shaped pieces and assembled them into a sniper rifle that was about two thirds his height. He set that aside, and pulled a canvas pack out as well, before realizing Din hadn’t moved. “Pod’kū, Din. Get up,” Akline commanded, and Din swung his stiff legs over the side. He hadn’t questioned why Akline knew his name; he assumed it was some Force thing, like what Ahsoka had done to Grogu, but he wasn’t sure how he had knocked him out. 

“How did you do that, last night?” Din asked pointedly. Akline had moved to his meager kitchen and was preparing breakfast on the stove.

“What, made you go to sleep?” Akline countered. Din grunted in affirmation. “You were already in great need of rest. I barely did anything. I just relaxed your mind, your body did all the rest.” If it hadn’t been such an intrusion, Din might have been grateful. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months, and despite his dream boring a hole in his heart, he felt moderately well rested. 

“Well, I would have preferred it if you had asked,” Din bit, and the Mirialan looked taken aback.

“I’m sorry. But it was more important that you sleep well, and you wouldn’t have allowed me to, er,  _ intrude _ upon you,” Akline half-apologized. “Are you hungry? You should eat something, before we head out.” 

“My ship is about one click from here-” Din began, before Akline cut him off.

“No,” Akline croaked. “We will go on foot.”

Irritated, Din tried to reason, “We’ll have a tactical advantage if we can take out those cannons from the air.”

“You forget who we are after. Burke is a pilot herself. She won’t be so stupid to allow an air attack. Ground is better. She’s been in the stars for many years, our advantage lies in solid ground.” Akline slid the contents of the pan out onto a plate, and handed it to Din. Din dutifully popped it into his mouth once it had cooled slightly, and realized it was a creamy sort of dumpling. He liked it. Akline chewed his own food, then continued to strategize.

“What kind of weapons do you have?” He asked. Had the  _ Razor Crest _ not been destroyed, he would have too many to ist off the top of his head. But now, he was limited.

“A DL-18 blaster. Whistling birds, and a flame-thrower, on my vambraces. A beskar spear,” he listed. He didn’t mention the saber that was now in his possession of. Akline rubbed the x tattoo on his chin pensively.

“I have a sniper rifle. I can disarm the first 3 cannons on my own. I will need help getting the rest of them. You must take out the Nothoiin guard, ten strong at the front. Nothoiin are not skilled fighters, but they are strong,” Akline schemed.

“How will we split the bounty?” Din asked. “I don’t know how much I’ll get for her.” Akline pursed his lips. 

“We’ll cross that river when we approach it.”

-

If Din thought he was he was inept walking through the marshes before, he was certainly mistaken. Akline, a resident of the planet, seemed to have trouble stepping through the bog, sinking and sticking. He didn’t complain though, and sped up in order to keep pace with Din, who realized his weight must make it easier to wade through the muck. 

Sooner or later, curiosity uncharacteristically got the better of Din. “You, er, have the Force, don’t you? How come you aren’t a Jedi?” 

“One does not  _ have  _ the Force, they can simply feel it,” He corrected. “The Jedi were extinct before I should have begun training.” 

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know. It all runs together,” Akline said morosely. “I guess 21. Maybe 22.” Din’s eyes bugged out of their sockets. The Mirialan’s rough voice and poise had tricked Din into thinking that he was far older, but Akline was practically a child. He hadn’t even been alive to see the fall of the Republic. 

“Oh,” was all Din had to say back. 

“Even if the Jedi hadn’t fallen, I am too weak with the Force to have been one,” Akline continued. 

“Weak?” Din prompted.

“Yes. Some are stronger with the Force, and some are weaker. Imagine a lake. Some people can dive in and swim, but others can’t see it at all. And there are certain people, in between, who can see the lake, but not swim. They just know it’s there,” Akline explained.

“Like you?”

“Like me.”

The two finished their trek in silence, until they came upon the garrison. 

“I’ll take out the cannons. You take care of the advance,” Akline whispered. Din nodded curtly, then Akline slid his rifle around off his back, and onto his shoulder. He took out the first cannon, which drew the attention of the guard. Akline gestured for Din to advance.

Din unholstered his blaster and shot the two Nothoiin in the back, before they realized he had come up upon them. One shot him in the pauldron, and Din blasted him in the head. 

Three more mobbed him, which he employed his flame thrower to dispose of. The last three of the advance were occupied with the cannons, one of which remained. Once Din spotted the barrel of Akline’s rifle through the trees, he shot the final three advance guards. Din heard the next wave of Nothoiin run through the halls, and saw the muzzle flash on Akline’s rifle, but the bolt wasn’t aimed for the final cannon.

It hit just below Din’s cuirass instead.

-

When Din awoke for the second time that day, it was not after a peaceful dream. Instead, it felt like his insides had been burned beyond recognition, which they had. When he finally regained consciousness fully, he was laying in an unceremonious heap on the floor. In front of him, Nifej Burke stood tall, her Imperial uniform transformed slightly, using pieces of Stormtrooper armor on her chest and arms. Next to her was Akline, hooded and treacherous. Din’s spear, which had been strapped to his back, was in Akline’s gold grip.

“A Mandalorian hunter, on my doorstep. In a way, I’m flattered,” she said. “Though clearly, you’re not the most  _ skilled _ .” Din could only groan in response. 

“I’m glad Remura intercepted you, or maybe this would have gone differently. But then again, probably not.” 

“Akline…” Din managed to sputter, attempting to straighten out his legs. He was unsuccessful: the pain radiating from his abdomen was too great. Akline turned his head away from Din.

“Remura is on  _ my _ payroll, Mandalorian. He answers to me. Surely you wondered where he got his intel?” Burke said, devoid of typical Imperial bluster. Din found that odd: most Imperial officers he had encountered were pompous, arrogant. Burke’s tone was factual and objective.

Din had rolled onto his side, while Burke and Akline abandoned him. He looked around, seeing 12 Nothoiin left.  _ My whistling birds _ , he thought for a second, before thinking  _ too soon _ .

“How much was the bounty on my head, Remura?” Burke asked Akline.

“He wouldn’t say. I’m not sure if  _ he  _ knows,” Akline responded.

“Hm. What do you think, 5,000 credits?” Burke offered. Akline tilted his head. 

“7,000,” he fired back.

“6,000, and you keep the spear.” 

Akline paused. “That’s acceptable.”

Burke retrieved several Imperial ingots, and handed them to Akline. He placed them in the canvas pack that he had brought along. 

“There, are we settled?” she inquired.

“Not quite,” Akline said slyly. “Kēia.”

_ Now _ .

Burke’s confusion of Akline’s native tongue gave them the half second they needed. Din curled his hand in, activating the whistling birds. Swiftly, Akline lifted the spear and spun it around, hitting the shaft against Burke’s temple and knocking her unconscious. The whistling birds found their targets, leaving one or two Nothoiin to be impaled by Akline. 

Akline tied up Burke, then proceeded to Din’s injuries with Bacta from his pack. 

“You could have shot me in the beskar,” Din complained. “I would have pretended that you hit me, and the plan would have still worked.” Akline tore open the charred hole of Din’s flight jacket, and began applying the gelatinous substance. It tingled as it began to knit Din’s insides back together. 

“Please, I turned the voltage down significantly. You would’ve been fine. This-” He held up the Bacta. “-Is just to get you on your feet faster.” Sure enough, the Bacta had fixed the hole in his stomach within the hour, enough time to get Burke loaded on a stray speeder and back to the  _ Poladus _ before she woke up. Once they reached the ship, Din and Akline secured her in a cargo compartment.

“You sure you don’t want a portion of the commission?” Din confirmed with Akline, who shook his head.

“I just came into a large sum of credits, plus an advanced TIE,” Alkine told him. “Much better than whatever New Republic bounty will offer me. But thank you.”

Din shook Akline’s hand. 

“Until we meet again,” Din bid, but Akline shook his head knowingly.

“We will not, Din Djarin. But I do wish you find it.”

“Find what?”

“Whatever it is that leaves you so empty.”

Din wished he would find it as well. 


	5. The Contract

If Nifej Burke was screaming from her compartment, Din had no way of knowing. He had sent a message to Cara as soon as he jumped to hyperspace.

_ I have Nifej Burke. _

Cara sent one back.

_ Kriff, that was fast. I’ll put in word on Chandrila to expect you _ .

Din would have vastly preferred to dump the Imp on Cara, but evidently that wasn’t going to be possible. Din had never been to Chandrila, but his guess was that he wouldn’t enjoy it. The core planets were arrogant supporters of the New Republic, even though they rolled over the second the Empire took over. Din wouldn’t forget that, no matter how many New Republic banners they flew.

Even in hyperspace, the trip from Bavva to Chandrilla would be at least a few hours, maybe a day or two. Din decided to use that time to tour his vessel, something he hadn’t really gotten a chance to do since he purchased it. 

The compartment that Burke occupied was close to the cockpit. The doors didn’t open from the inside, but just to make sure, Din checked the compartment to make sure that Burke hadn’t escaped. 

The tunnel leading to the left point of the U was _ all  _ cargo compartments: small cupboards of varying sizes, all with impressive hydraulic locks on them. The life support systems were at the end of the corridor of storage lockers, along with the service access to the engineering bay. The curve was where the main bay was housed, the docking ramp folded up inside of it. To get to the other half of the ship, Din had to pass over the diamond tread metal of the ramp, which creaked ominously under his step. 

The right side of the ship contained the crew quarters, which suggested, well, a crew. There were two bunks, the pads stripped of the bedding. The refresher was accessed through the crew quarters, though it wasn’t as bare bones as the one in the  _ Crest _ . There was an actual sanisteam, which was promising, since Din didn’t really bathe regularly. 

There was also a mirror. Din almost didn’t recognize it at first; he thought a sad and lonely man had stowed away on his ship and was hiding in the refresher. Once he had identified it as a mirror, and realized the sad and lonely man was himself, he resisted the urge to smash the piece of glass. Instead, he turned out of the room in a huff, and proceeded to the cannon.

Initially, when Din had realized that the cannon controls were housed separately from the cockpit, he resolved that he could rewire them to the cockpit, or at least to his arm bracer. Looking at the controls now, however, he realized that was going to be difficult. His original plan had been to rewire the fuselages through the hyperdrive, but that wasn’t going to be possible, since the cannon had its own generator. It was a H-294, which was a decent size and strength, but it meant that there was no way to connect it to the cockpit. In order to control it while flying, he would have to add a whole secondary system that would essentially be a controller for the controls. Hopefully someone on Chandrila could fill his redundant request.

After his tour of his _ own _ ship, Din reluctantly went back to the cramped cockpit, since he had little to do until Chandrila. He began to calculate the remaining course in the ship’s computer.  _ If I had an astromech, this would be easier _ , he thought momentarily. Unfortunately, astromechs were expensive new, and his previous strict ban on droids meant he had no idea how to fix up an old one.  _ That Jedi had an astromech _ , Din thought.  _ An R2 series. What does a Jedi need an astromech for? _ He then wondered if Jedi had an affinity for droids, and that was why Grogu had taken a liking to Peli Motto’s pit droids. 

Din sighed. Whenever his train of thought approached Grogu, it was quickly derailed while he wallowed in self pity and loneliness. He finished his calculations, hoping that he hadn’t made a mistake, and input the course. 

-

Chandrila came into view a few hours later, the surface looking pleasantly green, beige, and blue. Cara had messaged him the landing coordinates, which he plugged in once he had come out of hyperspace.

The docking bay was incredibly nice, even nicer than the one on Bespin. The one on Bespin seemed new and untarnished: the one on Chandrila seemed old and painstakingly maintained. On the catwalk, he was greeted by 8 New Republic officers. The lead, an older man with salt and pepper hair and tan skin, greeted him warmly. Din was careful not to reciprocate.

“She’s in the first storage locker, on the left side. Tied up with rope, it was all I had on hand,” he supplied gruffly. The rest of the officers trudged onto his ship lightly, while the lead chuckled slightly.

“I hope no one gets wind of prisoners being tied up with rope in storage lockers, or we might have a sentient’s rights disaster on our hands,” the lead joked. Din didn’t react. The lead cleared his throat. “Well, I am grateful you were able to capture her. Although, I’m confident the rangers would have brought her in eventually.” 

“Sure,” Din said sarcastically, causing the lead to pull in his lips tight.

“Well, I’m sure you are wanting what you are owed. Come with me.”

The lead took him to a New Republic office, not far off from the ship dock. A camtono, presumably of credits, waited for him. 

“10,000 credits,” the lead told him when handing the camtono over. 

“Thank you.”

“We appreciate your help bringing in Nifej Burke, but please be aware, this is not a permanent contract,” the lead disclosed, nervously. Din swallowed.

“I understand.”

-

Din decided it would be prudent to use 2,000 of the credits to furnish the  _ Poladus _ , despite his pile of debt that he had no real plan of reducing now.

The shame of giving up his helmet fluctuated, but being able to eat and walk was a surprising silver lining. He had purchased several polystarch bread packets, along with a variety of dehydrated soups. Both of these required water to be activated, but was a far cry better than the flavorless ration bars. After he paid, however, a dizziness spell reminded him the last time he had eaten was with Akline Remura on Bavva, nearly 2 days prior. The smell of braised meat wafted through the air, and he tracked it down to a small restaurant serving Shaal kebabs. Din allowed himself the rare treat of hot food and continued on his errands in the Chandrilan marketplace.

His next stop was a textile’s shop, where he could find a new jacket to replace the blasted one, and find some linens for the bunk. He wasn’t originally too keen on sleeping so far away from the cockpit, but further rumination supplied that a real bed, not just blankets folded into a cushion in a closet, might be nice. If anything, it would be good for his back, which had started to protest his usual sleeping arrangements years ago. 

In the textile’s shop, there was a black veil that caught Din’s eye. It was made of a gauzy cotton, meaning it would be opaque, but breathable. “How much for the veil?” Din asked the steamster who was altering the jacket Din had selected.

“30 credits,” the seamster replied, glancing up only momentarily from his work.

“I’ll take that too, then,” Din said, tallying how much he had left to spend on some new weaponry. 

“You have a pretty lady you want to hide from the world, eh?” the seamster prodded, folding the new jacket up neatly along with the bedding.

“No,” Din answered, raising an eyebrow. The seamster’s eyes widened, then he quickly packed up Din’s order. As he left the store, he wrapped the black veil around his face, contented by the comfort of anonymity. The veil obviously had a different feeling against his face, but afforded him the same result as his helmet once had. Of course, his eyes remained unobscured, but it was still nice to not feel so seen. 

The last item on his list was the armory. He had been without adequate firepower since he had parted ways with Boba Fett. 

He would have loved to pick up another Amban, but that wasn’t in the cards for him. The dealer had one on the wall, but was shifty when Din asked how much. “How much do you have?” he said. Din rolled his eyes.

“Never mind. I’ll take a carbine rifle, and some thermal detonators.” The dealer frowned, unhappy that he had been unable to swindle Din into the Amban. Din paid with the remaining credits that he had allotted himself to spend, then made his way back to the shipdock. 

The  _ Poladus _ was within sight when Din noticed the man following him.  _ Kriff _ , he thought. He used to be so much more careful to recognize stalkers, but the lack of HUD made that much harder in practice.

“Sir?” the man called after him. Din clenched his jaw and turned around. The man was portly and merry looking, and carrying the Amban. 

“Whew, you are a quick bugger,” the man heaved. “Nearly lost you back there, but here you are!”

“Do I know you?” Din asked. The man edged closer to him. He was a fair bit taller than Din was.

“No, but I know you! Well, I know about you. You’re a Mandalorian, right?” 

Carefully, Din responded, “I am.”

“Oh, good! I hate to ask, but it’s hard to tell, since you don’t have a helmet,” the man babbled. “I’m Noah Simble, prince of Tangenine, and I am interested in your services. As a token of my interest, I bring you an Amban pulse rifle.” He held it out awkwardly, the handling of a man who had never had to so much as touch a blaster before. 

“Put that thing down before you hurt yourself,” Din scolded. He stepped onto the ramp and entered the main hold. Simble followed him.

“See, Tangenine, while a lovely planet, is plagued by the Malandro syndicate,” Simble explained, voice wavering. He followed Din into the corridors, which irritated him.

“What, you’re looking for a bounty hunter to round them all up? Sorry, but even  _ I’m _ not that good.” After he finished stocking a locker with the foodstuffs, Din pushed past Simble to get to the crew quarters, where he would lay out the new bedding that he had been so excited for earlier. Just like a core dweller to ruin a simple pleasure like new bedding.

“Bounty hunter? Force, no. Being the royal family, we have a certain amount of security concerns, and in terms of personal protection, well, Mandalorians come the highest rated.”

Din balked. “You want me to be your bodyguard?”

Simble laughed. “No, no, I have a security force that I’m very fond of. It’s my daughter in need of protection. She’s a teenager, you know how they are, she doesn’t want a platoon following her around everywhere. But, a fierce warrior worth 12 men, that, she might be amenable to.” 

Din crossed his arms. “You want me to babysit?” Simble didn’t see the irony in this, but Din did. 

“I’d pay you handsomely, of course. Plus fuel, for wherever she might ask to go. And it’d only be for the lightning season, before she goes to boarding school on Cularin.” Din considered the offer. On one hand, he didn’t like people, and to be with another person for every hour of the day sounded daunting. On the other hand, he needed the credits. 

“How long is the lightning season?”

“Two, three standard months,” Simble provided. Din did the math in his head.

“I’ll do it. For 150,000 credits,” Din made his terms. Simble grimaced.

“That’s over 1500 credits a day!” Simble exclaimed. “More, if the season is short.” Din shrugged.

“If you want a one man platoon, pay for it.”

“120,000,” Simble negotiated.

Din thought for a moment. “Fine.”

Simble clasped his hands together. “Fantastic!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wookieepedia and thesaurus.com are bookmarked on my computer bc of this


	6. The Princess

The trip to Tangenine was quick. Simble had offered to fly with Din in the  _ Poladus _ , and let his chauffeur fly back his own ship, but Din was sure that he could make it without a personal escort. 

Simble’s chief of security gave him the code to the palace’s shipdock. When he approached, he felt a tad out of place. The rest of the ships in the dock were newer, sleeker, stylish. The  _ Poladus _ might’ve been new, but it wasn’t any of those other things. 

Noah Simble’s ship beat him, and he was waiting for Din jovially, as if Din were a friend he was meeting for lunch. “Come, come, let me introduce you to my daughter.”

They entered the palace, and went up the stairs, which split into two at the first landing. Simble went right, and Din followed, his boots quietly thudding against the low pile of the carpet. 

They stepped into a room, which was decorated pink and blue, gaudy and opulent. There was a 4 poster bed backed against one of the walls, and a vanity style sink and refresher on the opposite side. Din looked around for a teenage girl whom this room belonged to.

“This is where you’ll be staying. Pluie’s room is through that door, so she has to go past you, in case she tries sneaking out. Don’t knock, she hates knocking. Pluie, darling!” Simble called.

The door cracked open. Pluie Simble creeped out, wrapped in her duvet. Her hair was dyed a bright cyan and chopped unevenly at her ears. She took one look at Din, and yawned.

“Pluie, my sweet, this is your new guard. He’s Mandalorian, so you don’t need to travel with so many people in your security detail,” Noah said expectantly.

“Hm,” she remarked, unfazed, then retreated back inside her bedroom.

“Pluie, dear, don’t you want to meet him?” She poked her head back through.

“Not really. I’m going to go back to sleep now.” The door closed once again, and Noah shrugged.

“Teenagers. What can you do?” he said. Din didn’t respond, since Mandalorian teens were not like this at all. They were sharp, disciplined, attentive.  _ Child soldiers, more like _ a tiny voice in the back of Din’s head said. “You have free rein of the palace, of course. Don’t leave without telling anyone, we don’t want you to track in any unsavories, but keep your communicator on.”

“I don’t have a communicator.”

“Oh, right, Captain Neech still has it… Well, he’ll get it to you eventually. Welcome to the Tangenine Royal Guard.”

-

After Noah left, Din mustered the courage to remove his veil and confront his reflection in the vanity. Permanent lines had formed under his eyes, matching his crows feet. His cheeks had broken out also, likely from the veil that had been caked in sweat when he took it off. He ran the black fabric under the faucet and squeezed it out a few times. In the drawers, he found a washcloth and what he hoped was soap. He scrubbed at his face gently, then buttered his jaw with shaving salve and scraped off his patchy facial hair. When he was done, he rinsed the salve off his face, but it left a nice warm feeling on his jaw. When Din usually shaved, he only had a straight razor and whatever cheap soap he had on hand, which left his face feeling raw and stinging. When he left, he would have to steal some for the  _ Poladus _ .

Remembering the blaster shot to the gut he sustained a few days prior, Din delicately removed his cuirass and new flight jacket. The bacta that Akline had applied had done its job. As he ran his fingers over the spot where the scar should’ve been, Din felt no difference in the texture of skin, not even a scar. Akline was probably correct, that the wound wouldn’t have been fatal had it not been treated, but it was still unnerving to have one’s gut blasted. 

The door to the princess’s room creaked open, and before he could cover back up, the princess screeched, “Gross, are you  _ naked _ ?”

Din grabbed the jacket and hung it in front of his torso the way one might position a towel when trying to maintain some sense of decency. 

“I want to go see my friends,” the princess announced. She had changed out of her duvet cover to a caf colored gown, which reached the tops of her toes. Her choppy blue hair remained unbrushed. If Din wasn’t standing in the massive foyer of her room, he wouldn’t have pegged her for royalty. 

Din nodded, lamely and embarrassed. She raised her eyebrows impatiently, and he realized he was still bare on top. He twisted the jacket around to his shoulders, and she whined again. “The  _ partition _ , you vac bolt!”

She slapped a button on the wall, and a papery barrier flipped out from the wall, which encompassed the entire refresher portion of the room. Din wondered why it wasn’t a separate room to begin with. He quickly zipped up the flight jacket, and donned his cuirass. Unfortunately, the veil had not dried completely, and was still a little damp when he wrapped it around his head once again. 

Once he was decent, he pressed the partition button on the wall. The princess was sitting, bored, on the bed. “Finally,” she griped. She lifted herself off the bed, and led Din through the doors, the hallway, down the steps, and to the shipdock where he had first entered. She noticed the  _ Poladus  _ first.

“A freighter? What cargo is a  _ Mandalorian _ hauling?” the princess sneered. Din didn’t comment. He tapped at his wrist controls to lower the boarding ramp, but the princess glided past it, to one of the cloud surfers he had seen when docking.

“This is my ship. We’re taking this one,” she said, hopping onto the chassis. Cloud surfers were not Din’s favorite kind of transportation. Even though the princess had called it a ship, it was definitely more akin to a speeder. They could gain altitude and fly, sort of, but were unable to leave atmosphere. Surfers were shaped like a long platform, tapered at each end, with a tall sail at the middle of it. The steering and other controls were carved out into the mast, and there was no easy way to sit or stay secure on one. Din was surprised Noah Simble allowed his daughter to fly one, being the moderately dangerous things they were. 

Din stepped up onto the surfer, and his knees creaked while doing so. The princess rolled her eyes. “How old are you anyways? I mean, obviously you’re no spring tip yip.” Din kept his mouth shut. The princess grabbed onto one of the handles on the mast, leaving the console to Din. 

_ Don’t leave without telling anyone _ , echoed in his mind. The captain had never given Din a communicator. 

“Are we supposed to tell anyone where we’re going?” Din asked. The princess shrugged.

“On planet is usually fine. Ada usually wants to know when we’re leaving Tangenine.” It sounded like a lie, but Din had no ground to question it.

“Do you have a communicator, at least?”

She pulled out one from the folds of her gown. “Duh, how would I talk to my friends?”

Din just nodded and started the engine. “Where am I going?”

-

The princess’s instructions led them to a large, bustling station in the city center. There wasn’t anywhere good to land the cloud surfer in the city, so they had to land a click out and walk into town. During which, the princess continued to hound him with questions. 

“Where did my ada even find you? Were you at one of the, you know, uh, brothels?”

Din was too occupied scanning their surroundings to answer.

“That’s where he usually finds mercs. He says that that’s where they like to hang out, but I think that’s just an excuse he tells my ama.”

A male Rodian seemed to be following them, but peeled off the second Din turned his head. 

“He’s sleeping with everyone, it seems. You know he sleeps with half the guard, right?” 

A Toydarian sneered at Din when he made brief eye contact, ignoring the implication of the princess’ statement. Not so worrying, as Toydarians were much more likely to scam you than shoot you. 

“We’re here.” The princess stopped unceremoniously at a cafe. She waited near the door, and it took Din a second to realize she was waiting for him to open it for her. 

Din trailed behind her into the non-descript lobby. A few people sat sporadically around tables, and the princess sat down at one of those. There was not a chair left for him; Din surmised he was to stand. Din situated himself against the wall adjacent to the door, arms crossed.

“Hello,” the princess said, shyly. One of the girls sitting around the table, human, looked up, unimpressed.

“Hi, Pluie. Is that a new bodyguard?” she said.

“Yes, he’s a Mandalorian,” Pluie replied, softly. Her earlier brashness had evaporated. The young woman tilted her chin up at Din.

“Then how come he’s wearing a woman’s veil? Mandalorians have helmets, Pluie,” the girl posited, condescending. 

“I don’t know.”

“Hm.”

“But he’s very good. You can’t see it, but under the armor, he’s very strong,” Pluie countered. Under his  _ woman’s _ veil, Din raised an eyebrow. Pluie had only seen his torso, and Din knew that he had a soft belly and undefined biceps, by all accounts, unassuming. He wasn’t worried about what he looked like, but it certainly was not indicative of his physical ability. Pluie was lying to this girl; she had brought him here not to hang out, but to show off her new toy. If Din hadn’t felt so sorry for her, he might’ve been mad. 

“Is he cute? Under the veil?” A Togruta girl asked, as she cocked her head to the side.

“I don’t think so. He’s kind of old.”

“Oh, so he’s one of your ada’s,” The leader girl stated. Pluie’s face began to turn red.

“No, he’s not!” The other girl raised her eyebrows in shock.

“Pluie, you’re being awfully hostile. Maybe you should drink some fizzwater, and cool off.” The Togruta girl, and the other human to the side of her, nodded encouragingly. Carefully, Pluie reached out and sipped at a glass set before her. The leader, seemingly appeased, leaned back into her chair.

“Better?” the leader asked. The redness hadn’t left Pluie’s cheeks, but she nodded. This human girl was by no means a threat, but Din wanted to wring her neck. “Anyways, as I was saying before, as soon as lightning season ends, I’m off to Cularin for boarding school.”

“That’s so exciting, Zanha!” the other human girl piped up. The leader girl, Zanha, tipped her head to Pluie.

“I expect you’ll be heading to Corellia again? So your ada can, how did he put it,  _ keep tight security _ on you?” she mocked.

“I’ll be going to Cularin as well. My father made sure that they would improve their security.” Zanha’s lips tightened, momentarily, then she regained her smarmy composure. 

“I doubt they’d need to. I’m not sure you're worth the effort to kidnap.” Outside the window, the same Rodian from earlier reappeared. Din peeled himself off the wall and bent down to Pluie’s ear. 

“It’s time to go,” he urged.

“Really, Pluie? What did you do, signal him?” 

The Rodian entered the cafe. His fingers were touching his holstered blaster. 

“Get down,” Din growled to the table, and removed his own weapon. The girls ducked down, though Zanha a bit shallower than the rest. Din could care less; if she was caught in the crossfire, it was no skin off his back.

“A single, helmetless Mando? Simble must be getting-”

Din shot the Rodian in the head before he could finish. He pulled Pluie up from her chair. 

“We’re leaving,” he grunted, and she stood up amenably. She waved to her friends as she stepped over the Rodian’s corpse, who started with gaping mouths. 

-

After Din finished giving the cloud surfer a once over for explosives or trackers, he helped Pluie onto the platform, even though she didn’t need it. She was far less chatty on the way back, taking Din’s simple orders to stay behind him, or move quicker, or to lower her head, silently. 

Once they were in the air again, Din cleared his throat. “Do they always talk to you that way?”

Pluie looked up, dazed. “Who, Zanha? I guess.”

“She doesn’t seem very nice,” Din mused, though he himself had very little experience with friends. 

“She’s the best I can do for right now. Once I get to Cularin, I’ll make better friends,” Pluie asserted, as if she was trying to believe it herself. Din just nodded in response. “By the way, I don’t think you’re ugly. You’re just not cute,” she added. Din rolled his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why don't you have some fizzwater and maybe you'll calm down?

**Author's Note:**

> wookieepedia is my friend


End file.
